


Murphy's Law for the romantically inclined

by Khalehla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, Disaster dates, German National Team, International Break, M/M, Murphy's Law, Steno (if you squint), Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: It's just another international break. It just so happens to be on the same weeks as Valentines Day. Nothing special, right?Wrong. The German national team prove that if anything can go wrong, it will.(Usually because they caused it. But not on purpose of course. They can't help it if they're collectively a magnet for trouble. It takes skill to be this disastrous and still manage to be a world class national football team, you know.)





	1. You give me tingles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yyydelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yyydelilah/gifts), [tmrs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Anti-Valentine's Club](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646928) by [Yyydelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yyydelilah/pseuds/Yyydelilah). 
  * Inspired by [blind dates for desperate idiots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9580793) by [tmrs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/pseuds/tmrs). 



> ... because I wasn't going to post this collection of mini-stories but _your_ stories inspired me to finish them... thank you for such awesome hilarious entries!  <3
> 
> Let's all pretend that those in charge were crazy enough to schedule international break in the middle of February, shall we?

There’s soft jazz music playing when Mats stops at the door to their room sometime after 10. He’d made an effort to socialise with the others but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s actually quite tired from the day’s training and all he wants to do is snuggle up with Benedikt and get a good night’s rest.

Which is really funny when he thinks about it considering it’s Valentine’s Day, but he really is exhausted. He wonders if it’s management’s way of keeping them all from sneaking out or causing trouble, because the sessions had been brutal today, and he’s not the only one who looked ready to droop after dinner.

Mats sent Benedikt a text telling him he’s heading up and not to stay up for too long, then headed up to their room, hoping that his fellow defender wouldn’t be too grumpy at losing at pool again. Some light cuddling would do wonders for both of them, he thinks.

A little bit confused, he lets himself in. If the music he could hear doesn’t make him realise that his roommate probably hadn’t been spending time with Jonas and Manuel, then their pushed together beds covered in flower petals is all the confirmation he needs.

“Bene?” Mats calls out softly, wondering how on earth Benedikt managed to get his hands on so many flowers.

The Schalke captain sticks his head out the bathroom, and beams at him. “Hey babe,” he exclaims happily. “Happy Valentines.”

Mats just stares, then slowly grins. “Is this for me?”

Benedikt rolls his eyes affectionately. “No, it’s for someone else, actually, and you’re gonna have to swap rooms for the night okay?”

When Benedikt finally reaches him, Mats pulls him closer by the waist, leaning in to rub their noses together before placing a featherlight kiss on his lips. Benedikt giggles, then gently nudges him so he falls backwards and bounces on the bed. Mats is more than a little bit horrified that he giggles too. Which only lasts a short while because his fellow defender is slowly leaning over him until they are kissing properly.

Mats tingles, because Benedikt’s kisses always took his breath away.

It takes a while, but soon Mats realises that he’s not tingling because of the way the Schalke captain is nibbling on his bottom lip. No, he’s tingling because he’s actually itchy.

He pushes Benedikt away from him gently.

“What’s wrong?” Benedikt asks, sitting up when he sees Mats frowning.

“Not sure,” Mats says, then almost absentmindedly scratches his back. He frowns. Then sneezes. Then scratches his arms. Then sneezes again; three times. He finally, _finally_ realises what’s happening and jumps off the bed like he’s been electrocuted, staring at the bed in horror.

“Oh _God_ , are there chrysanthemum petals in there?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’m allergic!”

“You’re what?” Benedikt demands, eyes wide. “Since when?”

“Since I was a kid. Bene, help me find some anti-itch cream, please! And some anti-histamines,” Mats pleads, sneezing and scratching some more. “Oh God we need to throw those flowers out, I’m breaking out in _hives_.”

Benedikt quickly scoops the flowers into the trashcan then quickly grabs it when Mats yelps “outside!”.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll find one of the doctors and get some stuff for you!” Benedikt promises, before heading out.

Mats slumps in a chair, rubbing himself up and down with his palms in an effort to not scratch and dig with his nails. They’re going to have to get rid of the bed sheets, no way can he sleep on the now.

Mats sighs; that’s Valentines Day all ruined now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Mats is allergic to flowers, but what a way go ruin a date (*giggles*)


	2. Location, location!

Mesut is singing softly to himself as he makes his way to his destination, small bag of picnic goods swinging lightly in his left hand. Unlike his other teammates, he hadn’t bothered to stay behind for post-dinner socialising considering everyone looked ready to collapse from exhaustion anyway and no-one was attentive enough to even notice him sneak upstairs.

It’d taken some epic manouvering - and convincing Leroy to let him keep some stuff in his fridge - but Mesut had a nice collection of gourmet antipasti with him that he just knew Sami would be appreciative of. Very appreciative. Which is why he’s in a rather good mood, because Mesut was looking forward to the Juventus midfielder showing his appreciation and already imagining what form the appreciation would be taking. His imagination is living up to his footballing creativity by supplying some very interesting expressions of appreciation; until Mesut walks around the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

He’s prepared for the rather romantic setting of his chosen destination, but what he’s not expecting is Jule Draxler and Erik, sitting on a picnic blanket and chocolate covered strawberries in their hands (which they seem to have been feeding each other judging from the chocolate smeared on their cheeks, and yep, that’s some on Jule Draxler’s neck).

If that wasn’t already surprising, what’s even more unexpected is that they’re not alone; Ju Weigl and Joshua are standing at the foot of the picnic blanket, looking very unhappy, a small picnic basket with them.

The two couples are glaring at each other like a group of kindergartners fighting over the same toy.

“What are you all doing here?” Mesut blurts out without thinking, already dreading the answer.

The two couples look at him in surprise.

“What does it look like to you?” Ju Weigl sasses him. “ _We_ are here celebrating Valentines Day. _They_ are here crashing our picnic.”

“Excuse you!” The other Julian objects. “This is _our_ picnic place - which I think is pretty obvious considering we were here _first!_ ”

Ju Weigl turns to Erik. “You heard me talking to André about it earlier, and you snuck out as soon as dinner so you could steal our spot!”

“I did not!” Erik exclaims. “Bernd gave me this spot, thank you very much!”

“Well Bernd gave us this spot on the _second day_ of break,” Joshua says triumphantly, “and he would never give it up to anyone else when he knows _I'm_ gonna use it!”

“You can’t use your friendship with Bernd to trick people into giving up their date spots!” Jule Draxler says indignantly, standing up. “We were here first. Find your own spot!”

“That’s it, I’m calling Bernd!” Joshua waves his phone as though it’s a threat. “We’ll get this sorted once and for all and y’all can pack up and go smooch somewhere else.”

Jule Draxler gives the younger couple an ‘I’m not scared of you’ look and Erik crosses his arms stubbornly, mouth pouting like a five year old. Ju Weigl drops his picnic basket onto the blanket and give his fellow bumblebee an equally impressive pout, also crossing his arms.

Mesut just sighs and takes out his phone to text Sami. Whatever Bernd ends up saying he doesn’t really care anymore, the fight with his other teammates not worth it. He’d realised while the two couples were yelling at each other that there was obviously more than one ‘secluded alcove’ in different parts of the hotel grounds and they’d all somehow managed to arrive at the same one (which, if they really thought about it, wasn’t even close to being secluded considering he could see into the dining hall and probably _not_ where Bernd had told any of them to go); they might as well just salvage whatever they can, even if they have to have the picnic in their room instead.

Naturally, the two couples don’t notice him leave, and he’s shaking his head, not surprised that they’re all now grumbling into the phone about Bernd giving directions that included ‘south side of the pool’ and ‘west of the carpark’. Absolute amateurs. Now if only he could remember if Bernd had said ‘north of the tennis court on the side of the volleyball pit’ or the other way around...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bernd is the provider of romantic picnic locations to the team, as you can [read about here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9269654/chapters/21293072).


	3. Older, wiser and should'a known better

Oliver, Thomas and Andi walk up to their floors feeling very very smug. Despite the fact that all of them were still ready to curse FIFA to hell and back for setting international break _on the week of Valentines Day for God’s sake_ , they’re pretty sure that they’d managed to dampen any enthusiasm for excessive and unsanctioned canoodling by running everyone ragged until their boys were ready to drop. The games of basketball were particularly inspired and they all had to admit that Marcus had done really well with that one. The hour of running up and down full-sized basketball courts had been the icing in the cake of 8 hours of intense training, and by the time everyone had sat down to dinner, half the team looked ready to fall asleep into their red velvet heart shaped cakes.

Knowing all this, they’re relatively confident that despite the date, the boys wouldn’t have enough to energy to cause any mayhem tonight. They’re so confident that they’d even mentioned it to Jogi.

Jogi had stared at them in disbelief. “How long have you all been with the team now? You should all know better than that,” he’d said in his most ‘I’m Very Disappointed In You’ voice.

Thomas flushed and Andi’s shoulders drooped. But Oliver could be _really_ stubborn once he decided to be. “Jogi, it’ll be _fine_ ; promise!”

The others nodded their heads in agreement because contradicting the general manager now would just make them look silly.

Jogi had stared at them some more, then shrugged. “Okay, if you say so.”

“We say so,” Oliver said, feeling slightly less confident.

“I trust your judgement,” Jogi had said, then calmly left the dining hall, calling out goodnights to some of the younger players and Dr. MüWö.

Despite Jogi’s reaction, the three of them had gotten their optimism back when they noticed that the usual suspects weren’t pairing off despite tonight being Valentines Day.

“I’m going to feel real good about telling Jogi ‘I told you so’, tomorrow morning,” Andi says when they make their way to the lifts.

“Me too,” Oliver agrees smugly.

Everything had gone so smoothly, that it was almost eerie. He breathes a sigh of relief when the lift finally stops at their floor, and he’s about to cheer when Andi stops just outside the lift and makes Oliver crash into his back. “What?” he starts to say but then notices the goalkeeping coach gaping.

It’s Bernd Leno, and he’s smacking his head against the wall and practically yelling into his phone.

“South side, Jo! South side! Why the fuck would I send you _there?!_ Why can’t any of you follow direction! I go to all the trouble of finding you the perfect spot and you all manage to get to the wrong one? Do I have to do everything else?! I wanted a nice quiet evening but _nooooooo_. Now I have to go out and re-direct everyone! Seriously! I had plans too, you know - is it too much to ask for one uninterrupted night?! Why do you all have to be so _difficult!?_ ”

Oliver and Thomas and Andi look at each other as the other back up keeper storms off, still ranting into his phone.

“I really don’t want to know,” Andi says with a defeated sigh.

“There, there.” Oliver pats the goalkeeping coach on the shoulder and steers him towards the lifts again. “Let’s get out of here before they manage to do something stupid and we have to explain to Jogi why we didn’t stop them.”

Thomas nods. “Good idea. The further away we are from their shenanigans, the better.”

But of course, nothing is ever easy with Die Mannschaft, and just as the doors to lifts closes and they’re a second into the short trip down, the lift shudders to a stop, the lights flicker, and the fire alarm starts blasting loudly.

The three groan in disbelief and frustration.

“If that’s because of one of ours, I will personally strangle each and everyone of them, then resurrect them so that Jogi can deal with them,” Oliver says through clenched teeth, dead serious.

Andi bangs his head repeatedly on the elevator walls.

Thomas sighs then slides to the floor while they wait to be rescued. It was going to be another _looooooong_ night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jogi was right, those three really should've known better.


	4. Fire in my veins

Rare artisan chocolates? Check!

Sunny’s favourite flowers? Check!

A nice bottle of red wine? Check!

Scented candles? Check!

Romantic music? Check!

Marco’s quite proud of himself considering it was Mario who was the expert on procuring handcrafted chocolates, but he’d put his observation skills to good use and managed to get his hands on those freshly made sea-salt chocolates that Mario loved so much. The flowers were a lovely touch, too, and the candles were giving off a delicate floral fragrance with a hint of pine. Yes, Sunny will be overwhelmed by it all, Marco’s sure.

He’s just putting the finishing touches on his hair when the snick of the electronic door signals his roommate has finally made it up from post-dinner socialising.

“What have you been up to, Marco?” Mario asks in surprise, a small smile curling on his lips.

Marco congratulates himself on being so sneaky, and pulls the chair out from the table, standing behind it like a waiter and signalling Mario to come sit down.

“Your table awaits, my love,” he says expansively.

Mario grins as he comes closer, but he doesn’t sit down straight away. Instead, he pulls Marco to him by the neck, whispering “Happy Valentines, baby” before kissing him sweetly.

Marco’s entire being has narrowed down to the points of where he and Mario are touching: their mouths hungry against each other, their hands moving up under shirts and into waistbands of pants, and the press of their thighs together. He’s so obsessed with the love of his life in his arms that walking Mario backwards and deeper into the room is almost instinctive, and he only stops when they finally bump up against the table, although they don’t necessarily stop kissing.

It’s another long few minutes before they break for air, and Marco rests his forehead against Mario’s. “Happy Valentines,” he whispers, and Mario laughs into their shared air.

“It should be Valentines all the time if I get you like this.”

“I don’t need an overly commercial day to tell you how much I love you.”

“But it helps,” Mario says cheekily, “and not like I’m-”

Mario stops then, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Marco asks, concerned.

“My back-” Mario starts, then gasps, taking his hands out under from Marco’s clothes.

Marco’s about to ask what’s wrong again when he looks up, and in the reflection of the mirror, he can that Mario’s shirt is hanging loose and on fire. Marco must have bent Mario over the candles without realising how close they were, and now he’s panicking because his boyfriend is about to burn to death.

“Put it out!” Mario yells, turning around and trying to rip his shirt off.

Marco gapes, then runs for the bar fridge to grab the overpriced bottles of mineral water while Mario tries to rip his shirt off without burning his skin even more.

Starting to really panic now because _Mario is still on fire!_ , Marco trips over his own feet, crashes into the table as he falls, and very ungracefully splashes Mario with the water bottles. Mario yelps, because the water is freezing cold, but at least the fire’s out.

“Are you alright?” Marco asks after a few seconds of trying to get their heart rates under control. He picks himself up from the floor so he can check Mario’s back and make sure no serious damage was done.

“I think so,” Mario says in a small voice, looking a little like a drowned rat. “ I don’t think I was seriously burnt.”

“Thank God!” Marco whispers in belief. He pulls Mario to him so that he can help him actually take the ruined shirt off. “I think we should forgo the candle-lit dinner tonight, don’t you think?”

Mario nods, still a bit shaky. “I’m sorry it’s all ruined - you put so much effort into it, too.”

“Don’t apologise, I should be the saying sorry since I almost set you on fire,” Marco says, gently hugging him when Mario tries to protest. “I’m just glad you’re safe, okay? - but we should probably try and get some burn cream for you, yeah?”

“The medical team is going to kill us,” Mario grimaces even though he heads towards his suitcase to look for another shirt.

So much for Valentines Day romance.

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **fiction** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.


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